Freya
by acciokatiee
Summary: Freya Lokidottir has lived in the shadow of her father's greatness, steadfast in his decisions and unmoving during the battles for Midgard against the Avengers Initiative. But when Freya meets the great Captain America in a series of unfortunate events, her perception of good and bad changes forever. Cap/OC


Bombshells crashed against buildings, flooding them with smoke and enveloping the streets with flames and terror. Freya reached for another Chitauri weapon, bearing it against what she thought were her allies. Apparently their leader forgot to debrief them on the part of the plan where she, Freya, was the sole ground spy.

A Chitauri came up behind her, bearing another blue and gold light-stick, but ended up with a shoe-to-the-face and a quick stab in the gut from one of Freya's own weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, the spy saw a burgundy-gold clad figure zoom through the skies, towards the building opposite Freya. She quickly threw her weapons behind a dumpster and fled to a nearby overturned table, taking cover and feigning innocence while the metal man passed by her without notice.

Checking if the coast was clear, she overturned the table with a quick sweep of her wrist and continued down the street, gripping her weapon firmly. She looked for each Avenger- any Avenger- but could only see Stark, shooting beams of light into Chitauri vehicles up above. Frustrated, she whipped around, and caught sight of Natasha Romanoff, streaking behind a building's corner and out of an alley. She had found her target.

Quickly she ducked behind two buildings and back into the alley she had just seen Agent Romanoff in. Barely spotting for Chitauri, she continued to streak down the street, kicking debris out of her way, when, out of nowhere, a blinding pain shot from her side throughout her entire torso and to the ends of each limb in her body. Turning about, she saw a Chitauri vehicle zooming away, with its occupant holding a blue and gold weapon drenched in blood.

Freya quickly collapsed to the ground, clutching her side, pushing her head into the rough pavement in order to try and distract herself from the pain slowly growing inside of her body. How again did those weapons work? It didn't matter now. She was probably going to die, right here, on the pavement. Bleed to death.

Maybe siding with the Midgardians, the chance her father had given her all those years ago, wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe she would have lived longer, had more purpose than just a ground spy. Her father had asked her if she would want to live on Midgard, and protect those people. He had given her a choice. Live with him, hopping between Asgard and Jotunheim, or go and try to make a life with her mother, and foster her skills as a half frost giant with her (adopted) uncle Thor. Looking back, she didn't even hesitate to accept a life with her father Loki. It seemed like the obvious choice at the time. She had never understood her father's reasoning behind the proposal until just recently, when she had asked him. He had just grinned and told her that it was a test of faith to her real brethren. Now she wasn't so sure if her test of faith should have been a pass or fail.

Churning in her thoughts as she waited to die, she came to the conclusion that no matter who she had sided with all those years ago, her time was now. She had fought against the people she opposed, and made a difference in the battle for Midgard. Now it was time for her to go.

She felt the beams of light above her slow, the Chitauri inching slower and slower around New York, foot soliders running, walking, barely even moving. Light began to fade around the edges of her vision, and she relased her grip on her bleeding right side, rolling over to face the sky.

And saw Captain America standing over her.

Slowly but surely, the rest of the world began to speed to catch up with her and the supersolider as he plucked her from the ground and began to carry her. She beat at his chest with faint and weak fists, but her resistance was fruitless. He took her from the alleyway and into the street, where, since Freya had been injured, the battle had relocated. All six Avengers, save for Captain America, were defending the city against the Chitauri force.

"I'm taking her to Stark Tower!" The captain's mouth and his voice were out of sync to Freya, his lips moving a fraction of a second after she heard his voice. She groaned and continued to protest against the captain's rescue. She heard faraway shouts of dissent at Captain America as he ran without a word from the battle scene and towards the lofty tower beneath the extensive portal dispensing hundreds of Chitauri every minute.

Freya involuntarily groaned and began to clutch her side once again. The captain, who had obviously noticed her discomfort during his trek towards Stark Tower, tried to ease her distress. "Where does it hurt?" Freya pointed to her right side with a tired finger- why was she still conscious, or better yet, alive?- where an impressive bloodstain was beginning to show. Captain America ripped off his hood without hesitation and pressed it firmly, yet still with gentle fingers, to her wound. Freya winced with the pain, grinding her teeth against one another. She reached out for something to hold on to, some harbor of safety and comfort before she lost her consciousness, and happened to find that comfort in the captain's arm, which was holding the piece of drenched cloth that used to be his hood in place over her wound.

Then her world grew black.


End file.
